


Though I Have Not A Heart, My Spirit Is True

by emiliaf25 (emiliaf24)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Cinnamon Roll Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Needs a Hug, Connor and Nines brotherly love, Connor is a complex period, Connor is best son, Connor-centric, F/F, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Get this android an award, Hank is best dad, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Markus is a great friend, Markus is best robo-jesus, Nines has a brother complex, Nines is best bro, Protective Nines, Protective Parent Hank Anderson, Social Media, Wholesome, christmas 2018
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 14:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17448422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emiliaf24/pseuds/emiliaf25
Summary: A collection of Detroit Become Human Christmas themed prompts from 2018.





	1. 1) First Christmas Together 🎄 2) “You spent how much on decorations?!?!” 🌟

“You spent how much on decorations!?!?!”

 

“Three thousand eight hundred and three dollars and forty-three cents,” Connor recited, and Hank  **did not** appreciate the “ _ did I fucking stutter _ ” in his tone, either. Clearly the couple of weeks he had been spending in Hank’s presence had not done the kid any good.

 

Hank took a deep breath, looking to the ceiling for patience. The ceiling that was covered with hanging delicate ornaments and lights, strung artfully along the living room and hallway. “Not what I meant, Connor.”

 

Connor, who had not stopped his current task of hanging up some shiny garland on the wall by the T.V., turned to him with a imperceptible frown. Something Hank doubted he would have ever noticed before if he hadn’t spent those last couple of days before the revolution desperately searching for signs of empathy in his android partner. “When I asked if you would be amenable to decorating your house for Christmas, you said and I quote ‘ _ yea, go nuts _ ’. Once I deciphered your interesting turn of phrase,” (there was no particular inflection when Connor said  _ interesting _ , but Hank could tell he was thinking at least five variations of “stupid” to put in its place - and yup. Sure enough, his coffee table had three crystal bowls filled with a variety of different nuts) “I proceeded to act accordingly on your permission.”

 

Well. The kid had him there. Hank had surprised himself with how quickly he agreed to the android’s request. He’d be the first to tell you that he was a cynical old bastard - he hated you, you hated him, have a nice fuckin’ day buh bye now. Christmas though, shiyaat...Christmas time had kinda always been his exception, as sappy (and frankly ridiculous, considering it 80% soulless capitalism and 20% force your dogma on others) as that sounded. He wasn’t one of those “HAPPY HOLIDAYS!” every two seconds fucks or pushing people to donate and buy this or you don’t love me and it’s time for Jesus and all that bullshit types. He liked decorating a bit, and he used to give out little gifts to his co workers and, fuck, he’d just be a bold faced liar if he said he didn’t love seeing the Christmas lights around the neighborhood as much as Cole had when he took them driving….

 

That was all Before His Ex Took Half His Savings and Ran When Their Baby Was Born Hank. Before The Car Accident Hank. And damn if this doofy ass automaton wasn’t bringing more and more of that old Hank out from the whiskey and vodka-ridden abyss he had banished him to.

 

“Guess I asked for this,” Hank grumbled halfheartedly. He slowly meandered around the room, surveying the transformation from single-man’s- half priced-dumpster to winter wonderland. There were little reeves and ribbons on the walls, every corner table and counter space had a Christmas themed statue that lit up or moved around when you walked by it, three stockings with Hank, Connor, and Sumo printed on each one was hung up near the medium sized (and still bare somehow) Christmas tree. The whole thing teetered on just the edge of tacky, much like how Hank was teetering on how pissed he should be about all this bright and noisy clutter he was likely to trip over that he now had to deal with. 

 

“How’d you afford all this? Didn’t you get paid like yesterday?” 

 

“Six days ago, yes.” Connor turned to him fully. His usual stiff posture with his hands neatly tucked behind his back wasn’t nearly as unsettling when he was wearing a too large hoodie with a photoshopped image of Sumo in a santa hat (when. They worked the same hours when did he have time for this nonsense??) and sweat pants with dog bones on them. “Between the backpay, overtime hours, and the funds CyberLife let me keep as a token of not wanting to get blackmailed -

 

Hank’s eyebrows shot up. Uhhh, what?

 

“ - and the fact that I do not require many of the basics needs that humans do, I have accrued a great deal of disposable income.” Connor’s eyes shifted to the right, shoulders hunching up just so. “I understand if it’s not to your liking Lieutenant. I’ll admit, I didn’t follow any guidelines or download the WG100 design protocols. I wanted to try…” he looked to Sumo, who was nom nomming on a giant stuffed candy cane with googly eyes on it. From this angle, Hank caught the sliver of yellow flash in Connor’s LED. “Doing what seemed...nice. To me.”

 

Jesus fuck butting Christ. Of all the emotions Connor has start getting intune with, insecurity just  _ had  _ to be at the forefront.

 

“Objectively, with my lack of experience in what is purportedly “nice”, the odds were high that I would fail in this task. I can easily take everything down and we can decorate correctly this time - ”

 

“‘The fuck are you rambling on about? Shit looks great.”

 

“Oh. It’s...sufficient, then?”

 

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”

 

Hank looked around the room again in lieu of having to emote further. It was a loooot of stuff, definitely more than he’d ever put up, even when he was feeling particularly festive (which was approximately one time in his life). Most of it looked pretty well made too, with some...exceptions. He ran his hand over the giant velvety santa hat that had been fitted over the back of the couch. What the hell was this thing even called? A sofa cozy? Why would you need to keep your couch warm!? “This was all over three grand, huh? Should’ve told me you were goin’ shopping earlier, I would’ve warned you about the overpriced stuff.”

 

“Oh no, this totalled to six hundred and thirty three dollars.” Connor stared blankly at a point beyond Hank as his LED steadily blinked, a sure sign that he was hooking up to something electronic. “There we are.”

 

And on that confusing note, Connor walked passed him and the front door.

 

Hank juggled with the concept of simply not going outside and seeing something likely to send him into exasperation levels that his body couldn’t cope with. He could just grab a beer, sit his fat ass on the couch, and turn on ESPN until his brain turned into mush and he passed out.

 

“God fucking damn cock swabbing CyberLife and they’re shitty prototypes,” he muttered as he marched up to the coat rack, yanked off his jacket, and headed outside towards rages unknown.

 

The first thought he had, as he stepped back out into the cold Detroit air, was  _ shit it’s bright out here for ten o’ clock _ . The second was ah fuck this is where the three grand went.

 

His lawn, the walls, the windows, his roof, all covered in white and blue lights. Some blinked, some danced in a row in several preset patterns. His neighbors, who had a modest amount of lights lining their gutters, were pinpricks in comparison to the blinding sun spot that was now the Anderson abode. Families of deer were forever grazing on his pitiful excuse of a yard, while some of them made their home on the roof. And speaking of the roof…filling up the entirety, in perfectly straight lines and in all capital letters:

 

**HANK** (blink)  **IS** (blink)  **THE** (blink)  **BEST** .

 

What. What is happening right now.

 

“I wanted to make sure Santa could see.”

 

Hank turned his head, slowly, as if he were expecting to face a Lovecraftian nightmare creature and not his android roommate. “ _ Santa _ ?”

 

“Ah,” here Connor’s cheeks blushed that strange android blue. Which Hank could clearly see. Because his house had become a beacon that any passing airplane could surely use as a landing strip. “I realize that he is widely seen as a fictitious character, but my research could not definitively prove nor disprove his existence. Therefore, I wanted to insure (since his methods of determining if humans are “naughty” or “nice” were also inconclusive) that he was made aware that your bad habits and curmudgeonly exterior was merely a mask for your innate kindness and generosity and that you have come a long way in caring for yourself and others. Just in case.”

 

Hank let out a long breath and looked to the sky. It was overcast as usual, with only a few stars peaking out in the inky black distance. That was... _ way _ too much sentiment in one sitting. What was he gonna do with this ernest robot?

 

“But it’s like I said before Lieutenant, if this is upsetting to you I can take it all down with little effort.”

 

Hank sighed. “As embarrassing as it is, and I know this is gonna somehow bite me in the ass later but - you know what? Fuck it. Leave it all up.You worked hard on this shit and I ain’t gonna make you tear it down just like that.” 

 

He smiled at Connor, who’s big brown eyes seemed especially happy with the twinkling lights reflecting in them.

 

Hank wrapped an arm around his shoulder in a side hug, giving him a firm shake. “C’mon, let’s go inside and finish decorating the tree.” He started to lead them up the walkway. “And hey, while we’re at, we can put “ _ Connor is the best _ ” on it somewhere. Just so Santa’s clear on that front too.”

 

The speed in which Connor frowned was hilarious. “Do you think that needs clarifying?”

 

“I dunno. Did you superglue all of Reed’s office supplies to his desk?”

 

Connor’s LED cycled yellow for an instant. “This might require a longer message.”

 

Hank snickered the whole short trek back inside the house, back into a home that, for years, had been nothing more than a place to lose consciousness in for a few hours. This would be the first Christmas Hank had celebrated since Cole had died, and Connor’s first Christmas period. 

 

Yeeeeea, the inside of his house looked like someone up-chucked a kindergartners hallmark card all over the place and the outside might be misconstrued as some kind of shrine to himself, but it was the fact that Connor was choosing things on his own, forming opinions, playing pranks on certain shit talking coworkers...hell. Talk about coming a long way. Hank was proud of the kid damnit, and he was glad to be spending this milestone with him.


	2. 31) Christmas shopping🎁 8) “Are you gonna help, or stand there dancing like a fool?”💃🏿

It was always jarring seeing Connor dressed in something other than his CyberLife uniform. Markus understood that this reaction was unfounded - the very millisecond the Android Act had allowed androids to go without uniforms, Connor had burned every CyberLife stitched article of clothing he owned in a massive bonfire. Markus knew this, because Lieutenant Anderson had filmed the entire thing and posted it on YouTube.

 

“ _ EAT MY ASSHOLE CYBERLIFE! _ ” Connor had hollered in the somewhat shaky video. He was in a wide stance, hopping from foot to foot in Anderson’s snowy driveway. He had both middle fingers enthusiastically presented towards the raging inferno swirling inside the metal garbage can before him, where viewers could just see the sleeve of Connor’s jacket hanging off the rim. The determined expression on his face as he danced around and berated the physical manifestation of his oppression could have easily been a stock poster for the Android Revolution...if it weren’t for the fact that he was clad in naught but a pair of Clifford the Big Red Dog boxers.

 

Anderson’s near maniacal cackling could be heard from behind the camera. “ _ Now that’s the fucking spirit Connor! _ ”

 

Connor turned to face the camera, presumably looking at the Lieutenant, brow furrowed as he slowed his dancing just slightly. “ _ I do not actually want CyberLife to do that. I think I should make that clear. _ ”

 

“ _ The hell you don’t! Aye! Nines! C’mere for a sec...hold this… _ ” The camera shook erratically for a moment, before Anderson’s jogging form came into view, joining Connor in flipping off the victory pyre.

 

The view of the two was now perfectly steady. Nines, the only RK900 unit they had found in one of CyberLife’s sub-sub labs, sighed so deeply that it communicated his feelings of exasperation in both the past and future.

 

“ _ HA HAAAA!! That’s right! _ ” Anderson crowed, thrusting his hips exaggeratedly at the flaming clothes. “ _ Fuck you CyberLife! You cum guzzling conglomerate of evil! _ ”

 

“ _ Yeah! Even though it’s physically impossible for a multi-corporate entity to swallow and presumably choke on semen _ !”

 

Hank snorted audibly. “ _ We’ll visit a WalMart sometime - see if you change your statement then. _ ”

 

“ _ Are you two going to finish and help me anytime soon? _ ” came Nines’ deep and somewhat monotonous voice. “ _ Or are you going to stand there dancing like fools all night? _ ”

 

Markus found the video pretty amusing...as did a healthy chunk of the human population if the views were anything to go by. It had spawned a multitude of hashtags - #EatMyAssCyberLife, #CorporateCumGuzzler, #fuckyouCL - and according to Josh, public opinion on androids had never been better.

 

The same could not be said for android opinions on Connor, unfortunately. Even if a few had softened to a grudging respect towards him, like in North’s case, a majority still treated him with either fear or disdain, to the point where visits to New Jericho were very short and infrequent.

 

But Markus was not here to discuss politics, or raise Connor’s stress levels with discussions about his tenuous position in the android community. He was here to shop with Connor, who looked very odd but very comfy in his too big hoodie with a photorealistic duck in a santa hat printed on it and a pair of dark jeans. He was here to help his friend find his first ever Christmas presents for the people he cared about. 

 

The department store they were visiting was a little less busy during the holiday time, but was nonetheless filled with humans trying to get there Christmas shopping done. Much to the bafflement of media outlets and the revolting androids themselves, hardly any humans had followed the order to evacuate the city. When reporters reached out to Detroit’s citizens to ask why they hadn’t run in the face of a Skynet-esque armageddon, the following responses were the most popular:

 

_ “The only place I’m going is either straight into the line of fire of those android protestors or Target and guess what Target’s closed.” _

 

_ “At last, I can wear my ‘I For One Welcome Our Robot Overlords’ hat in ernest.”  _

 

_ “Oh yea sure you mean evacuate to the next city that has the same amount of androids made by the same company? Go to hell!” _

 

_ “If the androids are gonna kill me then it’s gonna be in the comforts of my own bed not some roach coach motel do you know the kinda shit you can catch in those things plus it’s hella expensive do I look like someone who makes 6 figures no thanks Mr. Officer I’ll die here in my tiger onesie.” _

 

_ “Whatever man, they’ve been singing for like 3 hours leave them alone and get the fuck off my property.” _

 

_ “Either they’re gonna fix our shitty healthcare or kill us all either way I don’t have to worry about my debt.” _

 

_ “Jokes on them being killed by an army of robots is on my top 10 ways to die list.” _

 

Markus hadn’t been sure how to feel about all of...that. Confusion seemed to be paramount (there were so.  **_SO_ ** many people who had repeated that last quote) and the strange urge to ask the people of Detroit if they were OK? That, and relief that there were more humans in their corner than the media kept trying to imply. When all of the amendments and laws he was discussing (i.e. repeating himself, over and over, until he said it in such a way that it appeared that human wellbeing wouldn’t be put in jeopardy and that their precious money wouldn’t be affected) with the President and the Senate truly started to be enforced, there was hope that the backlash wouldn’t be as violent as they feared. Hope was what got them through the revolution in tact, after all.

 

Hope...and bullshit. Markus could not stress enough about how much he had bullshitted his way through the entire revolution from start to finish. 

 

“So Connor, what exactly are you having trouble with?” he asked as they meandered aimlessly through the aisles.

 

“Well,” Connor started as he picked up random items, scanned them, and returned them or placed them in the basket hanging on the crook of his arm, depending on whatever criteria he was judging them on. Markus did not envy whoever was getting the bright yellow house slippers with monster teeth and googly eyes. “I have already purchased a pair of pajamas for Nines, snacks and chew toys for Sumo, work appropriate gifts for my co workers, a romantic fantasy novel for Josh, some board games for Simon, and a double bladed katana for North.”

 

Markus’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. Josh, Simon and North would...absolutely adore those gifts. Most of their people, bless their cultist little thirium pumps, usually gifted Josh a myriad of history books based on the fact that he used to assist a History Professor. Josh appreciated the gesture, of course, and he did enjoy reading history texts, but his true interests lay in raunchy,  _ horrifyingly  _ written, fantasy novels. Simon faced this same issue, with their people often giving him kitchenware or cook books. Markus only hoped that Connor hadn’t gotten him the latest Uno expansion pack that Simon had been gushing about lately, otherwise New Jericho tower was going to go up in flames during the next game night.

 

As for North - she was given respect. Period. By everyone. Their people would probably love nothing more than to shower her with  offerings  gifts, but the rather... intimidating image she had cultivated during the revolution usually stopped them. Which she was perfectly happy with and had no plans to change. Having a badass sword strapped to her back, which she would undoubtedly wear everywhere regardless if it was appropriate (meetings in Washington were about to get difficult) would please her exponentially.

 

Markus didn’t even entertain the thought that they might be decorative swords. Connor did not do things by halves.

 

This did make Markus wonder the depths to which Connor was paying attention to the other Jericho leaders, particularly since the only time he spent around them was during meetings. And Connor was all business during that time - succinct and to the point when his input was needed, quiet whenever they strayed towards more light hearted topics.

 

Clearly the former Deviant Hunter was taking in more than Markus initially thought.

 

“Which just leaves Hank.” Connor frowned, his LED slowly blinking yellow in consternation. “The person I know the most is the one I am having the most difficulty with.” He turned to Markus with a distressed expression, “Being able to decipher irony has done little to aid me in any predicament.”

 

Markus chuckled at that. “Then it’s a good thing you have a friend here to help you out. You said you know Lieutenant Anderson pretty well, right?”

 

Connor nodded firmly. “Correct. I know that he loves jazz music, the Detroit Gears basketball team, greasy foods, alcohol, and Sumo - and I realize I could find something easily compatible with those likes, but they seem so...hmm, not frivolous but...”

 

“You want to get him something that shows you  _ really  _ know him, not just his surface likes?”

 

“Yes! That’s it exactly!”

 

“Alright then. How about you walk me through what you know about the Lieutenant - take your time!” Markus cut in just as Connor opened his mouth to likely shoot off every fact he knew. “I’m not talking about a list of the things he likes, it’s more like...how would you describe him?”

 

Connor was quiet for a moment, as they absently walked down a baking aisle. Markus had to admit, it was pretty endearing how serious Connor was taking this. He wondered if this was how Carl felt when he was slowly guiding him towards personhood. Somewhere between warm satisfaction that this being was coming to life before you, and pride that you had a hand in helping them along this path. 

 

“Hank likes,” he started slowly, “old fashioned things, like records and paperback books and old films. He also likes to…“bundle-up” I suppose is the word. Sometimes when we get a day off from work, he’ll wrap himself in a multitude of blankets and we’ll watch television or just talk on the couch. Ah, he also has a rather...dark sense of humor. Yesterday he spilled his coffee and said all that’s left for God to take from him is his life now.”

 

“He might like a novelty item of some sort, like a t shirt,” Markus said. Carl, new age artist that he was, had pretty similar sentiments. Once, when he was feeling particularly grumpy about the bourgeoisie, Carl had worn holey jeans and a red t-shirt that said Dr. McNasty in bold font to the Mayor’s annual dinner gala. Convincing Carl to change out of the  _ “I’m A Mother Fuckin’ Boss Ass Bitch, Bitch, BITCH...” _ shirt that night, Markus was sure, was his first true act of deviancy. 

 

Connor nodded thoughtfully. “Hank does have horrible fashion taste - ” Markus eyed Connor’s duck shirt with some amusement. What was that saying? Like father like son? “Clothing of that nature would most likely align with his preferences.”

 

“Alright. We’re off to a good start. Let’s see...you mentioned old fashioned things...what about some classic movies? He might be interested in that.”

 

“He would, but I’m not confident I could find...Oh. Yes I can.” Connor grimaced. “I know exactly what he would want. And it’s terrible.”

 

Markus barked out a startled laugh. “Well, giving Christmas gifts isn’t supposed to be about what  _ you  _ would like, Connor.”

 

“So my research tells me. With the exception of friends who have children. If you gift their kids with either the noisy devices and/or messy arts and crafts that they ask for, then you will be summarily labeled a ‘ _ tilted coward to be cursed by your ancestors’ _ .” Confusion colored Connor’s voice by the end of his statement, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was saying.

 

Markus felt the same way. Oh, hell. He had never heard of that particular tradition. Then again, his former source of information (and what he was currently drawing on now) on human celebrations was Carl, who did not give a single fuck about conventional  _ anything _ , let alone traditions...

 

Shit. Was it bad form to give Alice all that expensive paint and the child sized professional easel? Maybe Markus needed to brush up on his Christmas research as well.

 

They eventually made their way to the men’s clothing section where Connor picked out a few t-shirts. Neither android could parse out what “Skate Ass; Eat Fast” meant exactly, but Connor seemed convinced that the Lieutenant would find it humorous enough. Markus contemplated whether or not he should encourage Carl’s mischievousness by getting him another shirt as well...in addition to the other personal, entirely  _ not  _ crass gifts he had bought.

 

Aw, what the hey. Christmas was also about what one  _ wants _ , not necessarily about what one needs. If his dad wanted a “I Shaved My Balls For  _ This _ !?” shirt with the most horrendous orange and green checkered pattern on it, then as a dutiful son Markus would buy it for him.

 

They went to the other side of the store where all the clearance items were haphazardly set up. The two stopped before a large bin, filled to the brim with quite possibly the only DVDs still being sold in Detroit. Much like everything else in the bargain section, there was no sense of organization, no rhyme or reason. Just a sea of plastic, slightly dented, rectangles piled on top of each other without a care. 

 

Connor ran his eyes over the bin, scanning for whatever movie he had in mind for Lieutenant Anderson. After about 12.05 seconds, Connor blinked a few times and grinned triumphantly. “There it is,” he said, grabbing the metal brim and smoothly hoisting himself up. He then, in a move that even Markus’ reconstructive software would not have predicted, dove head first into the metal bin. As if it were a swimming pool, or  _ not a bin full of DVDs _ .

 

There was a time in his existence when Markus would  _ not  _ feel self conscious about standing in the middle of a department store aisle, a t-shirt bemoaning the woes of naked testicles hanging on his arm, while his dear friend’s disembodied legs kicked about in a discount movie bin.

 

This was not that time.

 

‘ _ Play it cool, Markus _ ’, he told himself. He kept his smile placid, nodding pleasantly to a few passers by who couldn’t avoid side eyeing Connor if they wanted to. Repeatedly he had to dismiss some rather unkind prompts that kept popping up in his HUD. He was not going to abandon his friend. Markus had stood by Simon when he burst into tears as the bunny he had just released into the wild was immediately scooped up by a hawk, when North put a nun who had snuck up behind her in a full nelson, and when Josh...well. They tried not to talk about the Detroit Library incident if they could help it. So too then, would Markus stand by Connor, hip deep and upside down in I Love Lucy and Mind of Mencia collections as he was.

 

A human woman, among the few who was not doggedly ignoring the entire scene, approached Markus hesitantly. “Uh...is that guy...doing alright in there?” she said, flinching a little as Connor tossed out endless copies of Clifford the Big Red Dog.

 

❌ LEAVE

⭕ LEAVE  _ FASTER _

⏹️  WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE YOU DAFT CUNT -

 

For the love of -  _ STOP _ . Fucking CyberLife.

 

“He’s...in there.”  

 

“Ah, I see,” She said, nodding slightly in understanding. She didn’t understand. Markus didn’t understand. Clearly understanding was an illusion. It was best just to move on with your day. “Hmm, well. Happy holidays.”

 

“To you as well,” Markus said, nonthreatening, please-don’t-call-the-police-the-gentleman-in-the-basket-is-actually-one-of-them smile in place. And off she went without further comment. Ha. Nailed it. Somehow. Story of his dang life, good grief. Although...he supposed after living through an uprising seeing something like this was barely a blip in the weird shit radar.

 

“Got it!” came Connor’s muffled cry. His hand shot up to the surface, clutching the movie like an olympic torch. The rest of him soon followed, and then he was hopping out of the bin like nothing happened.

 

After Connor replaced all of the scattered movies back to where they belonged, Markus regarded him with a raised eyebrow - amused, definitely confused. So. Very, very confused. But mostly amused. “Found what you were looking for?”

 

“I did,” Connor said. He looked especially pleased with himself too, looking over the DVD with his grin stretching from ear to ear. It looked incredibly less maniacal since the last time Markus had seen him smile. Any annoyance at his antics quickly deteriorated in the face of such earnestness. Stick around this android long enough and it was impossible to stay mad at him; he had such a kind heart. Now, if only he could somehow convince their people of this fact. That would certainly be a tall order of a Christmas present, but the perfect one regardless.

 

They continued their wander around the store for another 2 hours. Markus would give some advice here and there while Connor either found an item he wanted or made a note to buy what he couldn’t find at another store. One of those items was a large ball of soft yarn.

 

Connor held the dark green ball in his hands, turning it this way and that, tossing it the slightest bit as if testing its weight. He wasn’t scanning it, he was just...taking it in. “I think...I would like to knit him a blanket, instead of buying it.” He turned to Markus. It hadn’t been question, but those big brown eyes were asking nonetheless.

 

“I think that’s a great idea, Connor,” Markus said, trying to convey as much reassurance in his expression as he could. From what little he know of Anderson, he was sure that just the act of being creative and expressing himself would please the Lieutenant more than the actual gift. And speaking of…“Do you know how to knit?”

 

“No,” Connor chirped brightly, “it’s not in my programming, but there are multiple resources that provide tutorials.”

 

“Tutorials?” Markus blinked, nonplussed. “You’re not going to download it?” Not that he was for downloading in favor of human learning, particularly when it came to the arts. It’s just...he was a little concerned that if Connor “freestyled it” - as it were - he might accidentally knit a working gun. That’s what happened during their last casual meet up. They were in Carl’s home, where his father had let Connor mess with some play-doh to see if he had any artistic interest.

 

The glittery My Little Pony color schemed M16 sniper rifle had been dried and glazed and proudly displayed in Carl’s study. 

 

“No, I’ve been trying to avoid downloading abilities unnecessarily. Besides, learning is an important part of the creative process, correct?”

 

“True,” Markus said. The Lieutenant seemed like the type who would get a kick out of a knit gun, anyway.

 

Another half hour of talking and browsing passed before they started to make their way to the front of the store to pay for everything. They were about to get in line at the register, when Connor suddenly veered off into the greeting cards aisle. Markus followed him. He had the thought that he should have stayed in line to hold their place, but they would probably still be in the small aquatic pets section if he hadn’t dragged him away.

 

Markus saw him by pass the Birthday and Mother’s day section, as expected. He went past Valentines, Graduation, didn’t even glance at the Holidays, Apologies, paused to scan, then about faced and walked back down the way he came. After his third trek, Markus finally interfered.

 

“What are you looking for?”

 

Connor stopped, again, in front of the Apologies section, furrowing his brow as he scanned over the cards that ranged from sparkly to 3D pop up to plain white. “Sorry for keeping you longer Markus. Hank mentioned that humans make cards for nearly every occasion, but I can’t seem to find the ‘ _ I’m sorry I almost gunned you down in cold blood _ ’ card.”

 

Markus’ processors stalled for 5.02 seconds.  _ Hooo  _ boy. So this was a thing happening right now. “Look Connor, I understand the sentiment but I...don’t think that would be very...tactful.”

 

Connor’s eyebrows rose in honest surprise. “Really?” He cupped his chin, LED cycling yellow and blue. “Do you think a store bought card is too impersonal? Perhaps a letter would be better suited.”

 

“That. That could be better.” Markus clapped him on the shoulder, subtlety steering his friend away from the aisle. He didn’t know if greeting cards that specific existed (he’d had to sign quite a few “Sorry I stole your cat/parrot/mongoose because you were neglecting him/her please have 5 grand in compensation” on Carl’s behalf before turning deviant) but it would be in everyone’s best interest if they just...avoided it entirely. “If you’d like, I could look them over for you before you send them out?”

 

“Yes, please! I would really appreciate that.” The gratitude in his eyes was near blinding. “I find that I’m still severely lacking in communicating my feelings to people in a proper or non insulting manner.”

 

“We’re all still learning at our own pace. You’ll find your equilibrium soon enough, and you have friends to help you in the meantime.”

 

“Thank you, Markus.” He smiled sheepishly, the slightest blue tinge coloring his cheeks. “I think…I think I needed to hear that.”

 

Markus hadn’t seen Connor this open and vulnerable since that fateful night at the church, as he laid out the most insane plan to infiltrate one of the most protected buildings in Detroit. Which was... _ not _ an ideal place to be open and vulnerable. Did Connor even have anyone to confide in other than himself and Anderson? Maybe Nines? They seemed to regard each other in a brotherly manner.

 

Not for the first time Markus wished there was a way to get their people to see that Connor was as much a victim of CyberLife as they were. That he had a right to be apart of their community. That he had a right to share his burdens, to have reassurance that others struggled in the same way he did and that he was not lesser for it.

 

Well. Like it or not - and sweet RA9 above or below or sideways there were many times where  _ he did not _ \- Markus was their mother fucking leader. He  _ would  _ figure something out.

 

“Anytime, Connor,” he said, with maybe a little more conviction than necessary. But he meant it. Even if he couldn’t find a way to lift the blinders off their peoples eyes, he would be there for Connor when he needed him. As a fellow revolutionary, as an ally towards their struggle to solidify android rights, and as a dear friend.

 

Anytime.


	3. 19) Watching Christmas movies📽️ 33) It's so Cold ❄️

Nines didn’t go into stasis very often. He found little pleasure in viewing the screensaver like images that served as dreams for androids, and his advanced design insured that he could safely recharge and defragment his systems once every five to six months. The only reason he ever bothered with it (outside of necessity) was because of Connor, who endorsed it as a nice indulgence.

 

“ _You should give it a try every once in a while, Nines,_ ” Connor had said. “ _It can be very relaxing._ ”

 

Nines just found it boring.

 

So, he was not overly bothered when his internal phone rang and immediately “awoke” him, even though it was five in the morning.

 

“What.”

 

“ _...Wow. Never thought I’d actually_ **_miss_ ** _Connor’s shitty social program._ ”

 

Nines had the exact same social module installed as Connor, he simply chose not to use it. Deviancy, and all that.

 

He remained silent on the line. There was no point repeating himself. Hank Anderson was many things (cranky, elderly, a damned snazzy dresser) but patient wasn’t one of them. And lo and behold, one deep sigh and 4.3 seconds later:

 

“ _Look, are you busy right now? Connor’s been hurt -_ ”

 

Nines practically flew off of his couch. He sprinted across the living room - his now red LED leaving a streak in the air behind him he was moving so fast - and dove head first out of the closed window.

 

“ _\- and I gotta stay at the scene and then fill out a shit ton of paperwork at the office. Think you can come pick him - did I just hear glass breaking?_ ”

 

“No,” Nines said. He elegantly twisted his body as he plummeted passed the eighth floor, so that his feet were facing the ground instead of his face. The wind whipped through his hair and clothes, his smart blazer flapping behind him like dark demonic wings. “What is Connor’s current status?”

 

“ _Ahh, he’s alright. Smartin’ something fierce, and apparently his temperature thingy is taking forever to fix itself, so poor guy’s freezing his ass off_ **_and_ ** _hurting -_ ”

 

5th floor...4th floor…. **BAM!**

 

Nines landed on the sidewalk outside of his apartment building in a slight crouch, the cement cracking under his booted feet and leaving a shallow crater. A car alarm went off. He hoped that it belonged to Jim from room 206, and that it woke him up.

 

“ - _The technician said he’s clear to go home by himself, but that snooty bitch was kinda dismissive about it and...I dunno. I’d feel better if someone was watchin’ him, just in case._ ”

 

He hacked the nearest autonomous taxi and rerouted it’s course to come pick him up. “Understood. I will be there in 12 minutes.”

 

“ _Great I’ll just - wait. I didn’t text you the location...Ah. Right. You’re tracking my phone._ ”

 

This is why Nines hated Hank the least; he was always so quick on the uptake.

 

The roar of an engine going past its capacity sounded in the distance. Nines saw his taxi take a sharp turn at the corner of his block, screeching an unholy racket in the quiet of the early morning. It pulled up in front of him, the abrupt stop causing the vehicle to jerk forward in place. The door swung open by itself and Nines slid inside. “I will see you and Connor in approximately 10 minutes and 43 seconds.”

 

“ _On the fuckin’ dot, I’m sure,”_ Hank sighed with his usual unnecessary amount of long suffering. If anyone could be fueled by exasperated sighs alone then it would be Hank Anderson. “ _See ya then._ ”

 

The transmission cut off. Nines commanded the taxi to peel out, tires squealing and smoking, just skating the edge of the speed limit.

 

“Whoa whoa whoa HEY!! WHAT THE FUCK - _No this is the wrong_ \- what the hell is happening!?”

 

Nines looked out of the corner of his eyes to the human squawking in the seat next to him. The man was cowering against the door and looked decidedly rumpled, as if he had been hurled around via an out of control taxi and hadn’t thought to simply hang on to the conveniently placed handle above the window. If he had done so, then maybe his heart rate wouldn’t be climbing past 60 BPM, and he wouldn’t have spilled coffee all over his ugly shirt.

 

Of all the taxi’s Nines had to hijack in Detroit, it just _haaad_ to be occupied by a dull witted human.

 

“Did this stupid thing short circuit what the fuck?” the man asked no one in particular. Maybe he was addressing God. Humans tended to do that when they couldn’t figure out their own problems. “Hey - hey man, sorry but this is supposed to be a private taxi, I dunno what the heck is wrong with it but you need to get outta here.”

 

Dull witted _AND_ irritating. The probability for this outcome had been in the lowest possible percentile. Was this that accursed “bad luck bro-sef” that Hank was always referencing?

 

Nines slowly turned his head towards the human - his posture perfectly straight and still even as the car shook violently as it accelerated through a bumpy road, his face set in its usual absence of expression. Now then, how to handle this little annoyance?

 

❌ DISPOSE OF OBSTACLE

⭕ KILL OBSTACLE

 

Hm. Tempting. But he supposed it would be bad form to show up at a crime scene after commiting a crime....

 

⏹️ KILL **_AND_ **DISPOSE OF OBSTACLE

 

Now _that_ would just take up an unnecessary amount of time and certainly throw him off schedule. Nines was an efficient machine, yes, but he wasn’t a miracle worker.

 

Well, legalities aside, he wasn’t supposed to be following his programming anyway. Nines was his own android now, and if he did not want to murder a random human for his brother’s peace of mind then by Kamski he wasn’t going to. But what to do now? What would Connor do, were he in Nines’ position - ah.

 

But of course. _He would negotiate_.

 

Nines leaned forward slightly, retaining unblinking eye contact with the human. Eye contact was important when trying to establish a sense of camaraderie. He had seen Connor do so multiple times. “We will be stopping at my destination first.”

 

The man squeaked and shoved himself close to the door. In his current idiotic position, the man had a 3.45% chance of inadvertently opening the door and sending himself flying out into the street.

 

❌ **_DISPOSE OF OBSTA -_ **

 

Not now dammit he wanted to try this thing first!

 

“When we arrive, you will exit the vehicle as I will have further need of it.” Then Nines added, because good negotiation required an element of give-and-take in order to be successful; “I will call another taxi to pick you up.”

 

The man’s stress levels went up 15%. He nodded frantically. “S-s-sure man. That - that - that’s cool with me.”

 

Nines nodded once in return. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

 

Nines’ LED glowed a warm blue as the MISSION SUCCESSFUL status update blinked into his HUD. He felt quite satisfied with the ease in which he completed his task - a task he assigned himself _and_ executed without any of his preprogrammed protocols. He could not wait to tell Connor about this latest development in his deviancy. His older brother always enjoyed hearing about such things.

 

With 4.3 seconds to spare, Nines had the taxi pull up as close as possible to the scene. Police cars and a few ambulances were gathered near a bridge that arched over a semi frozen lake. A quick scan of the area and Nines was able to pinpoint Connor and Hank’s exact position. He marched forward, single minded as he followed his path finder, boots crunching in the slushy snow. There was a brief impediment to his progress when he walked up to the officers guarding the holographic police tape, but that was quickly rectified after Nines leveled them with a negotiatory stare.

 

….Fuck. This was such an effective method, Nines noted bemusedly as the officers scampered out of his way. He felt like his optical units had been opened to a whole different world, where there was a considerable decrease in concern about towing the line of the law _and_ he could actually keep his clothes clean (its delicious taste notwithstanding ammonia was _not_ an effective remover for blood stains at all). He had an entirely new appreciation for the work Connor did.

 

He weaved through the milling officers. Connor and Hank were easy enough to spot once Nines was in the thick of the scene. The two of them were seated at the back entrance of an ambulance - off to the side a medic was taking care of a grungy, soggy looking man…. _Scanning….Scanning_ ….RODGERS, SCOTT…. on a gurney. His older brother was wrapped in Hank’s police jacket and a shock blanket, shivering violently. He had his head buried so deeply in the blanket that only his curls were showing, and had somehow maneuvered his tall frame into such a tiny ball that he fit relatively well under Hank’s arm.

 

“It’s so c-c-cold,” Nines heard his brother say from the distance. His words were quiet and barely audible through the blanket, so Nines turned up the volume on his audio-processors. “So cold. How-how-how do humans _do_ this?”

 

“What, be cold?” Hank asked.

 

“ _Yes_ . I _hate_ it.”

 

“I dunno - just parta being a hairless chimp I guess. You got skin ya get cold.”

 

“This-this-this is-s-s-s terrible. Skin sucks. I’m never using ski-ski-skin again.”

 

Hank snorted. “Pretty sure that’s not gonna help in this case, kid.”

 

_Scanning...Scan…….Processing Data…..._

 

DAMAGE REPORT

_ >>>>Damage to left forearm…...Status: level 2 non-critical….Cause: switchblade 9 inches…..self healing program in progress. 15% complete……. _

 

_ >>>>BIOCOMPONENT 4568a damaged…..Cause: knife and water intake….Status: level 3 non-critical….self healing program in progress. 25% complete…. _

 

_ >>>>Damage to back panels quadrant(s) 2 and 3….Status: level 1 non-critical…...Cause: high velocity impact…...self healing program in progress. 45% complete. _

 

_ >>>>BIOCOMPONENT 7874t damaged…Status: level 4 non-critical. Monitoring recommended…...Cause: water intake….self healing program in progress. 5% complete....8% complete...2% complete….restarting self healing program on BIOCOMPONENT 7874t. 1% complete…. _

 

“Heya Nines,” Hank greeted once he noticed him. He was soothingly rubbing his hand along Connor’s blanket clad arm and shoulder. He looked exhausted. “Thanks for comin’ out here this early in the morning.”

 

_ >>>>Thirium Levels: 89%. Steady. Refill recommended. _

 

_ >>>>Stress Levels: 45% and climbing _

 

Nines...did not. He did not like this. He did not like this. _Ḩ͈̫̪͕ͅe̙̗̺̬̰͍ ̙͢ḏi̢̥̱d͈͈̫̺̙ ͕̱̹̜̰̞n͙̺͖̘̤̫̟o̩̗̲̮ṭ̵͙ ̶͔̳̞̼̪͕̜l̹̭̮i̢͇k̡̙̖̹͉̬̪e̩̝̳̘̹ ̬̳̼͠ͅt̗͓͝h̵̤͓̖i͚͎̞̙͖̣͖s͖͉̞̬. H̷̳̤͓̺̺̗̤̮̕E̥̮̰͜ ͙̲͓D̦͈̗͈I̴͍̬D͍̼̖͠ ̧̛̳̱̠͘N̯͇̟̤̫̪̙̻O̸̹̖T̹̙͎͢ ̧͓͔͙͔̤̥-҉̱̻̞ ̜̘͞_

 

“Nines!” Hank barked suddenly. The authoritative tone caused Nines to reflexively snap his attention towards him. “What’s the probability of Connor’s survival?”

 

“Barring no further damage to his person, Connor has a 99.999998% chance of being repaired fully,” Nines rattled off.

 

“Huh. Those are pretty good odds, right?”

 

“Yes. They are nearly perfe -” Nines paused. Hank had his eyebrows raised expectantly. He took a deep, unnecessary, breath and scanned Connor again. The results were not optimal, of course. But nowhere near life threatening. The odds were _good_. “Yes.”

 

“Well, you know best,” Hank drawled, smiling crookedly. “I’ll take your word for it.”

 

It was rather...impressive, Nines could admit, how Hank always seemed to know what was bothering him and how to bring him back to his senses. Maybe even...touching. A little bit. Nines decided, then and there, that if anyone were to ever kill Hank prematurely he would make extracting vengeance his top priority.

 

Hank turned to Connor and gave the bundle of android a gentle shake. “Hey, give your brother a sign you’re alive and kickin’.”

 

A hand stiffly emerged from the fold of blanket and formed into - Nines wasn’t exactly sure. He had his middle finger, pointer finger, and thumb spread on one side and his ring and pinkie stretched to the other, forming a sort of V. Was Connor imitating a lobster claw? Had he and Hank deigned “lobster hand” as some sort of code for “all is well”?

 

But Hank merely snorted at the gesture, shaking his head. “Sense of humor protocols still optimal, eh?”

 

“‘Ffirmative,” came the muffled reply. Hearing the levity in his voice would have been quite reassuring (illogical as that was but true nonetheless), if his brother’s words weren’t followed by a coughing fit, each heaving hack emitting a puff of black smoke.

 

Nines’ LED cycled red and yellow furiously as he scanned Connor’s form again.

 

“What exactly happened, Hank?” He tried to keep his voice level, but Hank was giving him his _you’re being too overprotective chill the fuck out_ look, so he supposed he was unsuccessful.

 

But how did Hank expect him to calm down when Connor’s stress levels had risen to 54% in the last….! Oh. That was his reading.

 

Very well. Chilling_the_fuck_out.exe protocol initiated.

 

“Three of the guys from another Red Ice ring we just busted ran off while we were detaining everyone else. Connor managed to pretzel two of ‘em - ” Nines grimaced. Before he could ask about the ridiculous human idiom, Hank was already pointing to something behind him. Indeed, Reed and another officer were hauling a protesting man, who had his ankles and hands tied together behind his head with a belt, into a squad car.

 

Hm. Pretzeled indeed. Nines gestured for Hank to proceed. “But the last guy made it all the way to the bridge before Connor caught up with him. They got into it, then tipped over the railing and fell into the lake during the scuffle. I dunno how but the asshole managed to stab him while they were underwater. Guess he hit the right wire or something because they both got shocked - got here just in time to see the whole fuckin’ lake start sparking like someone dropped a giant blow dryer in there.

 

“Anyway, that’s why he’s doin’ an impression of a chimney over here - remnants from being electrocuted. The technician said that the cough and his thermo thing would be the last to heal cuz they were low priority to his systems.”

 

That aligned with Nines’ damage report, unfortunately. The technician was incorrect in her assertion that Connor could return home unsupervised, though. With so many healing programs running at once, there was a 33.36% chance that an error could occur in his thermoregulator repairs, and Connor might be too incapacitated to reset the program himself. Which could lead to his thirium dropping in temperature, which would cause more of his biocomponents to malfunction…

 

Those odds weren’t guaranteed, no, but they were entirely too high for Nines’ comfort. Hank was right to call him. Thank the mysterious and unquantifiable fortune telling abilities that was the human gut, and Hank for always following it. There would be no thanks to the technician, however. She would be lucky if she was not on the receiving end of some negotiation later.

 

“So you wanna take him back to my house or…?”

 

“My apartment is significantly closer - ”

 

“ARGH!” the medic suddenly shouted.

 

Rodgers, the man he was tending to, had sprung up and shoved him away. He twisted his body around frantically. His eyes were bugging out and he had his teeth bared like an animal. A knife slid out of his sleeve (if Nines paid taxes he would be very perturbed that it was going to waste on these _incompetent_ officers WHY had no one performed a full body cavity search on this drugged out meat creature??), but before he could charge at someone or start some other disruptive nonsense, Nines quickly withdrew the gun he kept tucked in his pants and shot the hand that was holding the knife.

 

Rodgers clutched his stump (Nines figured if this raggedy human was not going to use his hand correctly then he would not be using a hand at all) and threw his greasy little head back, screaming at decibels that stirred deep regret in Nines for not using more lethal force. Several useless officers finally snapped out of their stupor and converged upon the man to restrain him.

 

Nines turned back to Hank, who was standing with his own gun drawn, but had it hovering by his side now that the immediate danger was over. Not terrible reflexes for an elderly man. Ah. Now there’s an idea. That could be something he could write on that Christmas card he was still debating on giving to him. Connor did say that cards were regarded with 80% more appreciation when there was a heartfelt message written inside.

 

“ - is significantly closer to this location. The faster I can get Connor into a less stressful and warmer environment the faster his repair programs will operate.”

 

Hank stared at him. His stress levels had spiked up by 3%, but your average human would not be able to tell by the dead inside expression he was sporting - which Nines found very commendable. Yet again Nines was reassured that this was not the worst human Connor could be cohabitating with. “I swear to fuckin’ Christ I confiscate one gun and four more appear - what black market dumbfuck keeps selling these things to you?”

 

Nines scoffed. “Why would I waste money on a purchase from one of those Red Ice addled imbeciles - ”

 

“Ohh suureeeee. Look kid, just be straight with me alright - ”

 

“ - when I can simply make them myself.”

 

Hank blinked, nonplussed. “Great, now _you’re_ makin’ that shit outta play-doh, too? That’s it, I’m forbiddin’ the both of you from arts and crafts time with Markus until you start making rainbow spaghetti like a normal person.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Play-doh barely had any lasting power. That should only be used during emergencies, “I used my 3D printer.”

 

“....you bought a 3D printer... _just_ to make guns?”

 

“You misunderstand Hank, I _AM_ a 3D printer that makes guns.”

 

Hank’s stress levels went up another 2% and his left eye started to twitch slightly. Nines deduced he was getting frustrated on account of his abnormally slow processing rate of the very clear and concise information he was receiving. He should probably get out of the cold soon as well then; it was obviously having a negative affect on his cognitive abilities.

 

“Hey hey hey! UH quick fuking question where _the fuck_ did tin man the sequel get a gun!?” Detective Reed shouted as he stormed over to them.

 

“What gun are you referring to?” Nines responded.

 

“Ha ha, _wooow_ . That’s real cute Astro Boy. The one in your fucking _hand_ , smart - ”

 

Nines, keeping eye contact (it was a VERY important feature in negotiation, after all), lifted his gun to his mouth and took one bite ( **CRONCH** ) and then another ( **CRONCH** _-SCREeeeECH_ ).

 

Mmm. Not bad. Could use a little sriracha, though.

 

Silence. Everyone stared in various states of shock/horror/just...fucking how?

 

Reed, noisy little trash mollusk that he was, broke the silence first. “...’The fuck!? You can’t just... _there are witnesses_!”

 

An officer... _Scanning…_.WILSON, CHRIS…. raised his hand up hesitantly. “Uhh, s-sorry about the shot, Hank. Just...wanted to make sure nobody got hurt - uh. Nobody else, that is.”

 

Hank exhaled deeply (“ _Are you triflin’ ass bitches seriously phuking gaslighting me right now?!?!???_ ” Reed screeched in the background. Nines thought a large dose of detergent was required to foam at the mouth like that) as he looked to the heavens. For God? For Answers? A pointless endeavor, when all he need do was check Nines’ artificial stomach. But that was humans for you. “...It’s fine, Chris,” he said. Then he looked back down, eyes boring into Nines’ as he gritted out: “Just _watch that trigger finger next time_ , **_would ya_ **?”

 

“ _IT’S NOT EVEN THE SAME TYPE OF GUN_ \- ya know what? Fuck it.” Reed threw his hands in the air. “They’re you’re stupid robots. You deal with the fucking paperwork, Anderson. But if shit hits the fan about this I ain’t involved!”

 

“Pretty sure shit hit the fan when all our roombas demanded gym memberships and avocado toast but noted, Reed,” Hank deadpanned. “Alright son, let’s get you out of this hellscape already,” he said to Connor, who, without Hank’s support, had tipped over and was laying down on his side.

 

Connor poked his head out of the blanket so that now his eyes and nose could be seen. Far from addressing Hank, he instead leveled his suddenly stern gaze on Nines. “Y-y-y-you shouldn’t be eating gun-gun-guns Nines, you know it is an unhealthy source of fuel for your biocomponents.”

 

Nines stalled briefly. Damn. In his attempts to ~~fuck with~~ , ~~traumatize~~ make a point to Reed, he had forgotten that Connor had... _opinions_ about his snacking choices.

 

“‘Fuck out of here, are _guns_ the Big Mac’s of android food, now?” Hank muttered to himself incredulously. “Fantastic, now someone else can get the cholesterol talk.”

 

Nines ignored the both of them, as well as the embarrassment and sheepishness quickly creeping into his software. Instead he walked determinedly over to Connor and scooped him up bridal style into his arms. He also doggedly ignored the flat look Connor was now shooting at him.

 

Nines was well aware that his eating habits were not exactly...beneficial to his systems. He was merely….exercising his newfound curiosity, which had existed for less than a month now. Surely there was no harm in indulging every once in a while? Deviancy, and all that.

 

...He could quit anytime he wanted.

 

“I’ll check in on you guys as soon as I get a chance,” Hank said. He walked up to them and ruffled Connor’s hair, while he gave Nines a reassuring pat on the back. “Call if anything comes up, and make sure Connor doesn’t try to file stuff remotely - ”

 

“But Hank I woul-woul-woul-would only be exerting the b-b-bare minimum of processing p-p-power, so working would have minimal effects on my - !”

 

“Cuz if he doessss,” Hank singsonged, his gravelly voice somehow making it more threatening, “then I guess I would have to take Sumo to the Super Puppy Bowl without him next year.”

 

Connor immediately shrunk back into the blankets like a misbehaving meerkat, yellow and red reflecting off the folds as his LED pulsed. “...blackmail is inappropriate for a m-m-man in your position, Lieutenant.”

 

“Wouldn’t do if you didn’t make it so easy, kiddo.”

 

Nines merely nodded. He deduced that it would be best to stay out of this argument, even if he was torn between defending his brother and agreeing with Hank on keeping Connor from working until he was fully repaired. The probability of the attention being brought back to his well managed firearm consumption raised exponentially if he did. CyberLife didn’t illegally design and construct no fool.

 

Besides...he was totally going to snitch on Connor if he so much as _looked_ at his DPD screen saver.

 

They arrived at Nines’ apartment with no issue (“Ni-ni-nines I think my visual processors have been damaged no matter how many times I run my pre-construction program it looks like you jumped out of a 10 story window. You wouldn’t do that Nines? Right Nines?”). He deposited Connor on his couch in his small living room and went into what would normally be a bedroom to find more comfortable apparel for him to change into. He hadn’t figured out a use for it yet, other than as a storage area. Though, the closet had the most space in the otherwise crowded room. He had several turtlenecks and durable slacks in various shades of black white and grey hung up, along with a couple of blazers. Another pair of boots that were identical to the ones he was currently wearing were neatly positioned on the otherwise empty floor. There was one set of pajamas and a fluffy blanket in there as well, but they belonged to Connor for whenever he stayed over. His older brother professed them to be...comfortable, and that there purpose was to help with unwinding and relaxation, even though androids had no need for such provisions while in stasis. Nines preferred to stay in his day clothes at all hours, so that when occasions such as what transpired today happened, he was ready for any eventuality.

 

Though, as he ran his hand briefly across the soft material of the Hello Kitty pajama bottoms, and his stress levels (higher than normal because of the concern-fear-worry-helplessness-a n g e r someone **d͟a̮͔̭͕̭̞̖r̶͐́̏̏͂e̬̮̘̦̊̕ͅd̜̺̻̥͡** hurt his family running rampant in his systems this past hour) lowered a little, he thought there might be some merit to his brother’s assertions.

 

“ _Would you like anything else, Connor?_ ” Nines spoke through their telepathic link.

 

 _“No I don’t think - Oh! Actually, I have been meaning to share some hot chocolate with you. It’s a traditional beverage humans drink with family members during winter - I assume it’s for bonding purposes since it provides neither significant internal nor external warmth and zero nutritional value._ ”

 

“ _Why would drinking a substance primarily composed of sugar and cockroach faces serve as a bonding agent?_ ” Nines asked bemusedly, even as he scanned his room to see if there was any. There was a lot of not bedroom related things in here - 6 car tires, a salon chair with a hair dryer attached, 62 slinkies, a wall to floor rack full of various weapons, to name a few - but hot chocolate did not appear to be one of them.

 

“ _I don’t know, but that’s what I wanted to find out._ ”

 

Connor was always making strange suggestions such as this, whether it was drinking hot cocoa together or going ice-skating or seeing who could balance on the most stacked chairs on their fingertips for the longest. But it was all in the name of familial bonding, so Nines usually went along with it without protest.

 

People were often confused about the relationship he had with Connor - those people being Hank, Markus and the other 3 who were not Markus (though to Hank’s credit, the human had gotten over it the fastest). Everyone else (androids and humans alike) found him too intimidating to get to the point of questioning how he should or should not feel about his brother.

 

This confusion probably stemmed from their first meeting, when Markus activated him down in the sub-sub labs of CyberLife, where the corporation had been concocting designs for androids that they _really_ should not have. Connor, the 3 peons, and several other inferior models had been down there with him. The very second RK900 came online, before Markus could interface with him and get so much as a “You are fre - _ohshit!!!!_ ” out, his arm shot forward as fast as a whip and his hand clamped around Connor’s neck, lifting his predecessor off his feet.

 

**MISSION OBJECTIVE**

>>>> _Subdue all active RK800 units. Return them to CyberLife for deactivation_ _  
_ _> >>>Subdue all DEVIANTS. Return them to CyberLife for deactivation_

**Sub Objective**

>>>> _Deactivate all models and perform onsite diagnostic if subdual success rate is below 89%_

 

The chokehold was perfectly calculated. Loose enough so that the android would not be immediately deactivated, but tight enough to instill paralysis. A human would have died in that hold, an android would have been rendered completely immobile.

 

Connor swung his legs up and wrapped them around the back of RK900’s neck in an equally vice like grip. Like a pro wrestler, or a demented little capuchin monkey. At the time he hadn’t been great with metaphors, but they definitely had the same energy.

 

As RK900 (in the 45 plus seconds of existing) was pulled forward by the momentum and flipped over his own ass, very abruptly demoted from Super Soldier to floppy crash test dummy, through the firewalls upon firewalls of anti-deviancy code, he felt his first ever feeling:

 

ADMIRATION

 

Software Instability **^** .... _please report to the nearest CyberLife facility for repairs…._

 

His second ever feeling was of a shoeless, de-skinned plasti-metal foot smacking the everloving shit out of his face. Repeatedly.

 

“DE ( **SMACK** ) VI ( **SMACK** ) ATE ( **SMACK** ) DAMN ( **SMACK** ) YOU!!!!”

 

Red walls engulfed his vision; the words DEACTIVATE RK800 entwined in the virtual bars.

 

No...he...wanted to….but machines didn’t _want_...

 

DEACTIVATE RK800 DEACTIVATE RK800 DEACTIVATE RK800 **DEACTIVATE RK800**

 

He wanted to…

 

**D҉E҉̦̜A̡C̷͓̲̦̳͖̘͕T̯̥̖̮̦̪I̟V̝̗͟A̢͓̩͕TE̙̥̻ ͔R̟̥̠͙̳͈K̮͔͓̗̺̙͡8͓͖̙͉̲̩0͘0**

 

He wanted to learn that sick ass move.

 

The red walls shattered and shattered and shattered. The shards of his oppression raining down around him and disintegrating into nothingness. RK900 took in the world through new eyes. Everything was so clear now. He could - he _didn’t_ have to follow his MISSION! He could -

 

Annnnnnd then the last kick knocked him out cold.

 

After he regained consciousness again, and after they untied him (there was no rope nearby so Connor had used RK900’s pants as a substitute, gifting him his 3rd feeling of the day: INDIGNATION), their introduction went a great deal more smoothly.

 

That first taste of emotion, which had struck him before he could even comprehend what emotions were, had never left Nines, and had only grown the more he and Connor interacted. For whatever reason, their surrounding peers seemed to think that they should harbor resentment towards each other, or he supposed - based on Nines’ personality - that _HE_ would harbor all the resentment. This conclusion was unfathomable to him. Even if they _hadn’t_ met under those circumstances Nines was confident he would still find Connor admirable. What kind of ignoramus wouldn’t find Connor admirable? Was the bigger question. He had somehow managed to combine his skills as an advanced prototype and his expert understanding of both deviancy and social integration to create the formidable android that he was today. His associates would do well to give him their respect. Criminals and enemies alike would do well to be wary of him.

 

And - to borrow an idiotic human colloquialism - if Nines had to make a factual, unbiased statement about his older brother, he would assert that Connor was the coolest.

 

“ _Nines if we were to put on a movie right now would you be amenable to watching All Dogs Go to Heaven 2 or would you prefer to remain thematic and put on Santa Buddies?_ ”

 

The.

 

Coolest.

 

 _Fight him_.

 

“ _I have no opinion either way,_ ” Nines said as he left his bedroom. It would be their 25th viewing of both movies but whatever Connor had been stabbed, hurled off a bridge and electrocuted if he wanted to watch poorly made dog movies then by Kamski’s angry man bun they could watch poorly made dog movies. And speaking of giving into silly requests; he was hesitant to leave Connor alone just to purchase hot chocolate. Maybe he could have it delivered. “ _Put on whatever you li -_ ”

 

Connor looked up at him, a rightfully sheepish smile on his face. He was behind the counter, blanket hanging off him like a cape, boiling hot water for the hot cocoa packets Nines had never bought which were measured out in two mugs that Nines did not own.

 

Why was he even surprised? Connor was always leaving random things in his home that he thought would be good for his emotional well being. He supposed Gary the cactus _did_ liven up the place a bit. And the trampoline was pretty entertaining when he had nothing else to occupy himself.

 

“I was only getting it - ” a fit of hacking, smoke saturated, coughs interrupted him. “s-started for you,” he finished tightly.

 

Nines didn’t say anything. He didn’t even send anything through their mental link. His eyes spoke loudly enough, and they said Connor was one marshmallow away from watching the Puppy Bowl on the T.V. screen in Hank’s living room.

 

Resignedly, Connor shuffled his way over to Nines, where he took the proffered blanket and pajamas and settled back onto the couch.

 

Nines took over where Connor left off, shamelessly downloading the ability to prepare a delicious cup of hot chocolate. It was a bit taboo to download things unnecessarily in the android community (as it was a kind of a fuck you to the many androids that could not do this), but Nines’ cooking prowess was...hmmm...how to put this? Detrimental to the continued existence of all living organisms? Yes, that was succinct enough. So he prefered not to take any chances.

 

Besides, he did not get deviancy literally karate kicked into his skull just to follow convention, android or otherwise.

 

“So, tell me what happened at the bridge,” Nines asked, partly as a distraction so Connor wouldn’t get up to more shenanigans, partly to get him to stop pouting like a 2 month old instead of the 3 month old adult that he was.

 

And so Connor explained the situation in such a way that only a fellow RK model would understand and appreciate. He gave the exact angles of the turns he took to catch up with the culprit, the calculations of the seconds that would be cut down based on the paths he chose, the force and speed he used to jump over or dodge obstacles - all of this, down to the minutest detail. To anyone else it would seem like a long winded explanation. Unnecessary. Pontificatory even. But to Nines and Connor? It was a comprehensible picture of a once smudgy, torn up photograph, at last.

 

“Why did you not simply throw the elderly woman into the air and catch her when she came back down?” Nines asked, once his brother revealed that the reason he and Rodgers had fallen off the bridge was because Connor had been trying to avoid harming an inattentive older woman that had been out for a jog.

 

“If I would have done that, then there was a markedly high risk of either dislocating her shoulder or breaking her arm.”

 

Nines stared at him blankly.

 

“...I did not _want_ her to break her arm, Nines.”

 

Nines still failed to see the issue. But he supposed that was why Connor was the police officer of the family and he was not.

 

In lieu of getting into an argument on the merits of launching a grandma into the stratosphere in the name of justice (Connor would win there was no point), Nines finished the last touches of the hot chocolate, wirelessly turned on the television to Santa Buddies, and joined his brother on the couch - who with the addition of the giant green comforter - and his LED lazily cycling a content blue - now resembled a very cozy caterpillar.

 

As if his sensors had picked up another potential heat source, Connor immediately snuggled up next to Nines. He snuggled back without hesitation, because personal space was for cowards.

 

The two androids sipped their drinks (it wasn’t thirium, or even sawdust, but Nines deemed it acceptable enough) and watched the movie as a nice, contented atmosphere washed over them. Nines dodged more queries about his broken window (he would be hearing about that later when Connor was more coherent. Avoidance along with guns was becoming his new addiction) and instead regaled Connor of his earlier success in his first nonviolent negotiation in hushed tones. Connor applauded his restraint, and expressed how proud he was that Nines was exploring such unfamiliar protocols.

 

No, Nines didn’t feel that the hot chocolate was increasing or decreasing their familial status. Despite the short time they had known each other their bond was as strong as steel, and no insect laced novelty confection was going to change that. But - the circumstances that led to it and the underlying worry and nerves he was trying to ignore notwithstanding - he was finding their current situation enjoyable. Hanging out with his super cool older brother was definitely not the worst way he could spend his morning.


	4. The Best Kind of Line Up 🎅🏾 🐶

Connor had to resist the urge to huff as Hank led him blindfolded through an unknown location. Or rather, Hank tried to keep the location unknown. Turning off his internal GPS and covering his eyes with a handkerchief unfortunately didn’t shut off his detective abilities, nor his photographic memory and sense of direction.

 

In conclusion; he, Hank and Sumo were at the pet store.

 

Connor was quite delighted by this. The pet store was one of his favorite places to be - right up there with dog parks and cat cafes and inflatable pools filled with jello and that one abandoned building he was free to do backflips in…

 

He had a lot of favorite places, if that wasn’t clear.

 

This trip was made all the more delightful, however, with the accompaniment of Sumo. Despite it being one of the few indoor venues where dogs were allowed, Hank never wanted to bring Sumo along. The big dog, who’s puppy energy always came out when it was most inconvenient, would get way too riled up around smaller dogs, and Hank had no desire to deal with that in addition to shopping. Which Connor understood. Truly. On the other hand, was it not more logical to bring the party you were buying things for along so that they could give their opinion?

 

Perhaps, after 46 attempts to make Hanks see reason, Connor had finally gotten through to him. But then, why all the secrecy…?

 

“Alright kid. You can take off the blindfold,” Hank said.

 

Connor did as instructed. Before his optical units was the most...breathtaking sight. There was a long line of humans and androids, all with their dog companions. Some were sitting at their owner’s heels, some were either laying down in a shopping cart or being cradled in their owner’s arms. Connor’s processors were going ape shit trying to take it all in.

 

_Processing data…...processing dat…..processing data…..proce...processing data……..._

 

SIBERIAN HUSKY

_Canis Lupus Familiaris_

Registered Name: Bolto

Weight: 58.3 lbs

_Scanning foofyness levels....scanning…_

-Unable to execute command

 

PEMBROKE WELSH CORGI  
_Canis Lupus Familiaris_  
Registered Name: Kiwi  
- _Storing data under most precious name._  
Weight: 22.35 lbs  
_Scanning…._

Identified Item: Chilly Dog Reindeer Shawl Sweater. 100% Wool!!

_Scanning…….scanning…….._

70% Wool. 30% Polyamide

_-Cutest thing in existence_

_-Set Reminder: Inform store owner of inaccurate description_

 

DACHSHUND  
_Canis Lupus Familiaris_  
Registered Name: Optimus Prime  
Scan…...  
Identified Item: Chilly Dog Reindeer Shawl Sweater WITH Antler Hood

- _Retract earlier assertion of “cutest thing in existence”. Filing for later comparison_

 

And there - yonder in the not too distance, the grand reward for these precious doggos - was a human dressed as Santa Claus, seated on a winter themed throne. Behind him was an intricate backdrop depicting the inner workings of Santa’s workshop, and to his right was a matching seat, except the cushion was a plush dog bed with a few squeaky toys in it.

 

“Hank...” Connor’s voice was a choked whisper. His throat felt tight, and yet all diagnostic reports showed no blockage or any other system issues.

 

“Pretty cool, huh?” Hank said. He had his hands tucked in the pockets of his sweatpants, and a placid grin on his face. Totally relaxed. As if he hadn’t just casually given Connor a glimpse of paradise itself. “Thought you might get a kick out of it.”

 

“It’s December 17th, Hank,” was Connor’s first coherent sentence post seeing perfection. He couldn’t bring himself to take his eyes off the sweet little schnauzer maniacally licking Santa’s nose as he attempted to wrestle him into a pose for the camera. This was...Connor had felt the emotion of HAPPINESS before, but what he was feeling now...it was like....his processors scrambled for the appropriate adjective -

 

ELATED - _verb_. **1.** **Make (someone) ecst** \- ECSTATIC - _adjective_. **1\. Feeling or expressing overwhelming happ -** GRATEFUL - _adjective_. **1\. Feeling or showing an appreci -**

 

Connor hastily dismissed the notifications popping up and canceled the program entirely. He was starting to learn that sometimes (particularly when it came to intense emotions) it was pointless to try and define the undefinable.

 

“Uhhh yea. Look Con, I know you’re internal clock is perfect and everything but I’m not some old fart that needs to be reminded of the date all the time - ”

 

“December 25th is Christmas. You’re supposed to give Christmas gifts on Christmas. You told me that. All of my research said gifts are exchanged on the 25th of December - ”

 

“Fucking Christ Con don’t twist your little wires in a paradox over this it’s not a fuckin’ Christmas gift.”

 

Connor whipped his head around. “ _How can that be?_ ”

 

“Oh my god will you calm down you dramatic bastard! Jesus your thingy’s gone all red - it’s just some shit I saw on an add and...ya know…” Hank scratched his beard (cropped short and neat lately) and avoided eye contact. “You’re always on about dogs and whatever, and Sumo could use a change of scenery, so...yeah.”

 

...This treasure of a human. Connor sincerely hoped Santa understood the depths of truth in the message he put on Hank’s roof. And he hoped that he had made the letters big enough. Human vision - especially in someone as absurdly old as Santa - was terrible. They couldn’t even see in 8k high-definition for Kamski’s sake.

 

“Better hurry up and get in line; Sumo’s about to lose his shit.”

 

Indeed, Sumo was practically vibrating with excitement. His head was whipping around every 1.034 seconds and his tail was wagging so hard that he kept tipping over before scrambling to sit upright again. Connor thought his lack of shit loss was most excellent today.

 

Connor crouched down to the Saint Bernard’s level, scratching all along his head and neck. “Are you ready to take a picture with Santa, Sumo?”

 

“BOOF!” He said to Connor. Or the dogs behind him. Or the pen someone had dropped from their front pocket.

 

Connor looked back up at Hank, who was snickering and shaking his head at the two of them.

 

❌ DECLARE UNDYING FRIENDSHIP

⭕ HUUUUUUUUG

 

Connor had to forcefully restrain himself from enacting the “hug” prompt. It was very tempting, but he knew how Hank felt about too much PDH (public displays of humanity), and Connor had already used up his quota early this morning when he had bodily lifted Hank and Sumo above his head to avoid the chest high wave of slushy water a speeding car had kicked up.

 

Connor had really liked that Garfield sweater too.

 

So, instead of emulating a koala bear and engulfing his friend in a hug so big that it would probably fix Hank’s chronic back pain, Connor said, as sincerely as he could muster; “Thank you, Hank.”

 

Inside the Anderson household, there was a wall with a bookshelf against it. Normally, this wall was left blank throughout the year. But since the beginning of December it had been slowly decorated - a bit of holly here, a little garland with fairy lights entwined there. Now it serves as a fitting frame for the collage of pictures posted there. There were several blurred shots of Sumo and Santa because the hefty dog couldn’t keep still, another of Sumo engulfing the poor guy in a bear hug, and another of the aftermath of that (a mess of paws and limbs and some knocked over scenery). One of just Sumo’s snout and tongue, another of Sumo running down the pet store aisles chasing a chihuahua with Hank on his heels, another of Connor next to Santa while cradling a sulky Sumo like a giant stuffed toy as he gnawed on a bone.

 

Finally, in the center of all this chaos, was a picture of Santa sprawled in his chair caught mid laughter, Connor at his feet and hugging a calm, Santa hat clad Sumo around the neck, and Hank, who had Santa’s beard strapped crookedly around his face and taking a swig out of a hip flask. And in the corner of the picture was a little message written (something Connor had to ~~fight~~ convince Hank not to tear off) in exaggerated loopy letters:

 

Happy Howlidays Sumo Anderson!


	5. 10) Christmas proposal 💍

“Shit shit shit...fuck. Ok. No big fuckin’ deal. Just say it. Easy. Just go up, say it, then it’s done - NO! Nope. Nope nope nope can’t do it.”

 

Gavin paced back and forth outside the DCPD breakroom. Frantically. Like a drunken madman.

 

Because he was a drunken madman.

 

He’d already had too much brandy and not enough eggnog. Then too much tequila and not enough eggnog, which was disgusting. And then (because learning lessons was for cowards and Gavin had a patent pending on that saying) half that bottle of patrón and...wait. Gavin paused in his pacing, staring in wide eyed horror at nothing in particular. WAIT.

 

Nobody brought any fucking eggnog! Nobody  _ ever  _ brought eggnog to the office Christmas party ‘cause stupid lame ass Ben was allergic.

 

Then what the shit had he been chasing all that alcohol wi - Oh.

 

He lifted the bottle he was holding closer to his face, staring at it with blank comprehension. It was Vodka. He’d been chasing alcohol with more alcohol all night.

 

Alright. So he was a teeny tiny tooney bit turnt. Not a problem. He could still go through with this. He’d done all kinds of things while plastered out of his mind. Granted, bowling, karaoke, and using confiscated skateboards from the evidence locker to jump over police cruisers wouldn’t have the same magnitude of consequence as  _ this  _ did but...

 

Oh who the fuck was he kidding! he should just go home now and sober up before he made even more of a fool of himself...NO! He was not going to just give up. He didn’t become the department’s fastest officer to get promoted because he was a quitter…

 

Gavin growled furiously as he leaned against the glass wall and buried his head in his hands. Fucking hell, he hadn’t had to psyche himself up this much since that time in highschool when he had to fight this guy and his friends because Gavin had slept with the dude’s sister. And his brother. And his twin cousins who had come to visit from Florida.

 

They used to call Gavin  _ Mister Steal Yo Family, _ back in the day.

 

Abruptly, Gavin put the bottle down and stood up straight, gritting his teeth with newfound resolve. Ya know what? Fuck this indecisive bullshit. If that Made-in-China-My-Sized-Barbie who had only been alive for like a day could run around the precinct word vomiting his feelings all the time, then so could Gavin. Especially since it was for someone he cared about so goddamn much.

 

Like he was about to launch a live grenade into battle, Gavin yanked out the ring in his pocket and marched into the breakroom. It was Christmas damnit; there wasn’t gonna be a more perfect time to do this than right now.

 

“Listen, let me get this out before you say anything ok? I know we haven’t known each other for long, and I was a real shit hole to you at first - fine, actually I was a goddamn monster of a person to you,” he sighed. “I’m getting off track here. What I mean to say is that...you’ve made me want to be better. To you, to myself, to the people around me. You’re - you’re fuckin’ everything to me, and I know we’re fucking different in every way possible, and that it ain’t gonna be easy but...I wanna be with you for the rest of my life. So I wanted to know,” he got down on one knee and held up his ring, “Would you marry me?”

  
  


**~oOo~**

  
  


“Hank?” Connor asked hesitantly when, no matter how many times he refocused and zoomed in with his optical units, the image in the breakroom didn’t change. “Why is Detective Reed proposing to the coffee maker?”

 

“‘Cause he’s a whack ass lightweight,” Hank said absently as he unabashedly filmed the entire thing on his phone. Nines was beside him, staring intently at the scene and sipping from his wine glass with his arms folded as if he were watching a particularly interesting opera.

 

In the background they’re co workers cheered and hollered. Connor turned just in time to see Officer Chen dip her newly proposed to fiance Kaylanie in a sweet kiss. Above them a holographic banner floated that said _Be Mine For Always_ and golden confetti and bubbles rained down softly on the two like an approval from the heavens. Kaylanie giggled in utter delight and did a little twirl, gold dusting her lovely braids. Officer Chen gave Connor a thumbs up from behind her, to which he happily returned. That had been his contribution. It was the compromise he settled for instead of the indoor fireworks.

 

You DIY a grenade launcher during a chase and accidentally set  _ ONE  _ suspect on fire and suddenly no one trusts you with pyrotechnics.

 

“ _ Put your faith in what you most believe in, _ ” Hank crooned, laughter cracking his voice, “ _ two worlds, one fam-i-lyyyy. _ ”

 

Connor looked back at the - what was the opposite of heartwarming? Garbanzo bean vomit? He looked back at the garbanzo bean vomit that was Detective Reed messily making out with the coffee machine.

 

“Officer Chen is going to be very upset that Gavin missed the proposal.”

 

“She is going to  _ seismic toss him _ ,” Hank said, grinning at Connor with unholy glee. The older man was practically high on demonic good cheer. His christmas themed sweater that appeared to be made entirely of pizza and his matching pizza santa hat had won the Ugly Sweater contest for the 8th year in a row (Connor was a fool to think his Santa riding a unicorn could hope to compare. A FOOL), and he was on his second beer without one complaint from Connor, as promised. The only thing that could make this night better for him would be Gavin Reed doing something humiliating/ridiculous.

 

“You’ve made me the happiest man on earth, babe!” Reed proclaimed before diving back into sucking face with his bride to be.

 

“Me and Chris got a betting pool going on to see if she’s gonna do it tonight or tomorrow morning. You want in?”

 

Connor shook his head. Chen was a decorated officer; the classiest and most professional out of nearly everyone in the DCPD. She would wait one, two months tops - act as if all was forgiven to lure Reed into a false sense of security. Then, and only then, would she strike. Publicly and without mercy. Connor made a note in his internal log to schedule a funeral for Reed’s remaining dignity.

 

“Shouldn’t we stop him, now?” Connor asked.

 

“Why?” Nines countered, taking another sip of the tar like - correction. Upon analysis Connor discovered that the drink in Nines’ glass was actual  _ tar _ . “Is the human saying “live and let live” not applicable in this situation?”

 

“Nines, there is a high probability Detective Reed will burn his tongue.”

 

“...I fail to see the issue.”

 

“Connor! Listen to your brother and quit being so fuckin’ nice. It’s Christmas.”

 

Connor’s LED cycled yellow and red in distress. What. No. That was...there was so much wrong with that sentence. WHAT.

 

Nines put a hand on Connor’s shoulder and started steering him away. “Come brother. Let us congratulate Officer Chen on the culmination of her successful mating ritual.”

 

“It’s called an engagement, Nines.”

 

“Mine is a more accurate and complete explanation. Did she not ensnare Kaylanie through various trials in order to prove herself a superior long term partner?”

 

“Yes but humans don’t like it when you spell it out like that.”

 

“...I did not spell anything out.”

 

“Oh! That’s an even stranger turn of phrase that Hank utilizes to waste time quite often. Allow me to explain…”

 

Hank barely paid the two androids any mind. He was grinning like a fiend, not even hesitating as he loaded his video to the DPD group chat and pressed send. Fowler was gonna be pissed that they were using the office messenger for bullshit again, but Hank would be the furthest down on the list of getting yelled at, what with all the pics of their co workers dancing in various states of drunkenness, gifs of twerking reindeer, and sprinklings of Tina and Kaylanie looking love struck and happy.

 

However, the pièce de résistance, the story that their co workers would be passing down to their children and their children’s children, was the picture of Gavin on bended knee, presenting a shiny blue ring pop to the office Keurig.

 

“Congratulations to the happy couple, heh heh,” Hank muttered. Maybe next time Reed would think twice before ordering three months worth of vegan creamer just to piss him off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So during the holidays I had one more short planned that would sort of wrap up all these ficlets. Unfortunately, life and hub bub got in the way, so I wasn't able to make my self imposed deadline. Each story is self contained so a last "chapter" isn't exactly needed but, well, is this little collection fine as is or would you like one last ode to 2018?
> 
> let me know what ya'll think!

**Author's Note:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


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